


His Design

by My_Soul_and_Perfume



Series: His Design [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: And now he's terrified, Graphic Description, Hanniba's ego is crushed, Hannibal finally understands, I'm going to make a playlist for this, Mer Will, Mer means ocean, Murder Mystery, My thirst for Hannigram is so strong that the obvious sexual tension will soon be broken, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Soon my children, Well eventually, Will figures it out a second time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-08-15 10:09:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8052274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Soul_and_Perfume/pseuds/My_Soul_and_Perfume
Summary: And suddenly everything is clear, highlighted in bright red. Will has to choke down the rest of his pork for a sickening, yet glorious moment. Well why didn’t you mention that earlier, he wants to ask. But even so, the answer was right there, so fucking obvious to the naked eye that he has to laugh at his blindness.“Trust, waving the white flag, exposing your mind so…so eagerly.”“Have you acknowledged my motive at last, Will?”





	1. Chapter 1

**His Design**

                                                               

                                                                   

       Hannibal Lecter stood at the edge of a cliff.

       He watched the violent, vehement waves of the Chesapeake Bay fervently tear his best friend into pieces, like a starving dog deprived of basic sustenance. He experienced the sea’s metamorphoses, twisting and rising, twisting and rising, until the beast met him eye to eye, Will’s limbs thrown about inside the whirlpool; an arm, his head, both lifeless eyes, and two legs annulled of ankles and feet. Hannibal could only feel suffocated as it shot up and over, arching, and wrapped him up in the eye of the tornado. As it squeezed the air from his lungs far longer than humanly healthy; the spirit of a boa constrictor.

       Despite the ocean’s ferocity, Hannibal was blanketed in a warm tunnel. There was no sound except the beating of his heart—and Will’s—in sync. The echo was a white-cloaked, feline cub, purring and eager to bear its teeth and appear ferocious, but forever a lone omega. A perfect balance of loyalty.

       Hannibal grit his teeth, a new type of desperation electrifying his heart; unfamiliar affection for the man who he designed, who he lured and raised as his own, who attempted murder on his behalf for the sake of love, left the man suddenly void of any other goals he had hoped to achieve prior to Dolarhyde. It was only then, while suffering from the wrath of the empath, did Hannibal really understand the depth of his obsession.

       He loved Will Graham.

       He expected the two of them to run away together and expected to fall as one as well. But his plans strayed way off course and now Will Graham’s personal Familiar has come to Hannibal with a vengeance, slowly choking the life out of him, killing him with kindness.

       How far his desire to bring Will back from the dead depended solely on the cannibal then and whether he chose to fight for what was originally in his possession. What of the empath’s body? What of Hannibal’s heart? Should he have accepted his fate then, succumbing to submersion, or pray to God for strength?

       The outcome seemed fairly obvious to Hannibal as he gnashed his teeth, growled, and let out a barbarous cry as the muscles in his forearms strained to wrestle Will back over the edge. The ends were withered down to a single cord of thread from where the burden of Will Graham’s weight dropped dead, a manifestation of meat, into oblivion and lacerations ascending in a spiral around his forearms sliced through sinew and tendon.

       “This is not my design!” Hannibal called to him. _This was never our design._

       “ _Make it so._ ” He replied. “ _Then make it so._ ”

 

_Then make it so._

_Then make it so._

_Then make it so._

_**Then make it so. Please.**_

****

**End**

           


	2. Misplaced

**His Design**

**Part 2 Misplaced**

 

 

       “Who are you to judge me?”

       “That depends. Who do you think I am, Will?”

       He lets the office fall quiet, the steady _click, click, click_ of a metronome conducting their hearts into adagio; unhurried, without limitation and anticipation. Right now, it is neither cannibal nor empath acting as generals, for time is out of their hands here in this open space, bare of any clocks and unprivileged to have the sun’s shadows. The metronome is simply a tool to count the seconds. It happened to be there when they arrived.

       Falling into the flow of things, Will allows himself to be settled from a rabbit’s nervous beating into a tortoise’s. He holds his breath as Hannibal rouses in his seat, thinking that the man will strike, and exhales when he realizes nothing of the sort will happen. It’s fast and out of the cannibal’s control, but he indulges in a small smile; months of hard work have taken their due, to his delight.

       “You are…manipulative, poised, prepared, and…and….” Once, when Jack and Will had a conversation after he had been released from the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, the empath’s mindset still focused on killing his psychiatrist, Jack persistently reminded him that Hannibal was innocent. That he couldn’t have committed those crimes because there was no motive. Yet Graham had _given_ him the facts, the reasoning, the evidence, the _truth_. But the cold-eyed smile remained hidden beneath His masterful façade. Hannibal Lecter was just a harmless foreigner with a good reputation to the FBI, nothing unusual to note. Of course anyone would fall on the cannibal’s side and not believe Graham; who would trust the Copycat Killer, of all people?

       “And what, Will?”

       “A murderer.”

       “But I am merely doing God’s work, ridding the world of pigs; they do nothing but take, take, take. Consumers without integrity for society.”

       “Hannibal. You kill _innocent_ people because they’re rude. Charging you an extra five cents for no reason doesn’t outline all of their life choices. You’re just picky.”

       “What is your point, Will? And am I selfish for knowing what I want?”

 _No_ , his mind answers, but Will says ‘yes’. “You don’t know what’s good for me. You can’t just- just slaughter people like this, you can’t-“ He fumbles with the tie around his neck, loosens it up with shaky hands.

       “But I want to spoil you, Will. This is love.”

       “Framing me as a serial killer was love? Killing Abigail was love?”

       “You still do not appreciate the gifts I gave you, then. What a shame, Will, I thought we were on the same page.”

 _Click, click, click, click_.

 _Killer, killer, killer, killer_.

 _Love, love, love, love_.

       It all goes back to the same rhythm, evenly paced, not a stutter heard as if there is nothing wrong with discussing the topic of murder openly. Hannibal has a tendency to suddenly make everything appear okay, even dressed in crimson, and it makes Will’s stomach churn to know how synchronized the two of them are. The man has grown so accustomed to Hannibal’s habits that eating anything other than human meat feels ridiculous since there are so many pigs at their disposal every day, and dressing in suits for dinner has become a cultural law which neither dare to break.

       Where are Will’s own insight in this matter?

       Well, he has yet to find out.

       “Our supper will overcook. It is time to leave.” Hannibal says. He rises gracefully, takes one vulnerable look at Will, and dissolves into nothing.

       The metronome stops clicking.


	3. Reincarnation

**His Design**

**Part 3 Reincarnation**

 

       “You drugged me.”

       “We needed to have a conversation.”

       “The monster is tame, Will, there is no need to be afraid. If all is sound around us and our habitat remains stable, there has yet to be an…outburst.”

       “When have your actions ever been out of control?”

       Hannibal, of course, answers with a riddle. “It grows heavy, becomes ten times lighter. Everything is vulnerable wrapped within gravity’s embrace. I was a victim to it once and so were you, Will.” He wiggles his toes, small exercises to get his body working again. Smiles as his lively beloved places a serving of crispy pork belly over black pudding, celeriac remoulade, and apple puree. Will’s culinary skills have certainly grown, as well as his manners. Hannibal’s admiration of the dish is enough for him to nod modestly, and wait until the atmosphere deems safe to dig in.

       Their dinner continues in silence and the empath is courteous to not nag about Hannibal’s heavy-handed use of the cutlery against fine glass. After about ten minutes however, blood seems to be flowing freely again and Hannibal moves in time with the thoughts in his head.

       Evenly matched, evenly placed. Jack would be jealous if he saw how good Hannibal trained his little ex agent.

       “Why did you let me do it?”

       “Beautiful creatures tend to have many tricks up their sleeve.”

       “I could have killed you.”

       Hannibal smiles, suddenly, and Will knows to shut his mouth. Clearly that topic is still sore conversation.

       “Have you ever noticed that the one who donates his body willingly is the one to most likely make a friend?”

       And suddenly everything is clear, highlighted in bright red. Will has to choke down the rest of his pork for a sickening, yet glorious moment. _Well why didn’t you mention that earlier_ , he wants to ask. But even so, the answer was right there, so fucking obvious to the naked eye that Will has to laugh at his blindness.

       “Trust, waving the white flag, exposing your mind so…so eagerly.”

       “Have you acknowledged my motive at last, Will?”

       “I have.”

       “What are your thoughts?”

       “That I am your killer, who belongs to The Killer, and we both fell.” Will pushes his plate aside just as Hannibal finishes. There are no extravagant table pieces to distract, at least for the moment, and the empath is left with no choice but to look into His eyes. He swallows thickly. “We have both been reborn as God’s children.”

       “In what context?”

       “…Angels.”


	4. Prize for His Design

**Note**

 

**Hey guys, so I'm glad that this story has gotten to 405 hits already and I think that this is a good time to ask you a question. Would anyone be interested in doing some background work for me, mostly involving research for the symbolic items/characters that will be mentioned in this story? I don't have a deadline, and honestly there's no rush, but when time is limited for me it would be handy to have notes on what I want to write about beforehand so the chapter will be posted quicker.**

**The symbolic characters/items I'm thinking about are:**

  * God's garden

  * **Janus, the God of change**
  * ****Angels****



********It's okay if nobody is interested, but if one of you is, then feel free to comment down below or email me @ aspruill03@gmail.com** ** ** **

 

************See you next chapter!** ** ** ** ** **

**************no_bun_ballet** ** ** ** ** ** **


	5. Intermission

             **His Design**

**Intermission**

 

       This box is safe. It holds every memory, every thought, every breath exhaled from my shrunken lungs. One wouldn’t find any grass to pluck at with restless fingers, nor would any true desire to explore the night sky go quenched; I am literally starving here, in this box, of everything.

       But it is safe.

        Every year I grow one or two inches more and every year the box gets smaller. How I am still developing into an adult is certainly a mystery. Twenty years, after all, without sustenance should have drained me dry. But here I am, and here you are, and now we’re in this box together, forehead to forehead, breathing each other’s air quite literally.

       It is safe in this box. We are safe.

       But you hate me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first person to tell me what God's number is will get a personal fanfic and/or original story created for them!


	6. Preview

**This is actually a rough draft of God's Flower _,_ the next part in  His Design. I didn't want to leave you guys hanging for too long, so I'm sorry if things don't flow very smoothly. Enjoy for now, though! See ya!**

* * *

 

“Here, I lay beside you. My mind’s design, my heart’s creation, radiant in every way yet bloodied black like the raven stag you showed me once upon a time. Body so still and ignorant of how fast the world moves without you.

Time continues onward, Will. The world has seen your face and they have watched, seen, read, the line of which your life followed. Onwards, in one endless, painful, purposeless story tied off with loose ends as vulnerable as the strings on a puppet.”

Gurgled screaming. Thunder cracks.

“Oh. Oh no, let’s not do that. _See_? If you can’t fight ‘em, join ‘em. That’s what Whiskey always said. Remember?” 32 teeth, all crooked, two overlapped and one triangle shaped chip sprouting from blackened gums. Whiskey lived up to his name from the day he turned 18.

“He made his first creation. And you were him. He abused his first creation. And you suffered. M-mama was s-so…. _Mais, Elle est mort_ ….”

 _“In this midnight we are flushed, gaping. This was not my design and I must make it so. That is what you told me, Will._ ”

“You died eventually, by the hands of a monster; albeit a premature death, but your heart stopped all the same.”

Black ink trickles down his chin, coating teeth in bittersweet wine and poison lacquer. He slurps everything up, nearly done with his speech and tastes grape.

“But now, it is time to rise, Will. Turn your back on the world and expose it toward the heavens instead.

For God has a new plan, a plan of calamity.

Madness.

Luxury.

And death.”

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awwww snap! Who's talking to who? Is this Hannibal, Will, or other? What do you think will happen next?
> 
> I don't care about kudos, for comments keep me breathing. Please let me know what you think! PLEASE!


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